A Second Chance

Part 86 - Do I clench my fists?

The first day may have been good, but man... the second day was the opposite. 

I spent the entire morning staring at a massive pile of official warning letters stacked on my kitchen counter. 

It turns out inheriting a massive mansion from a famous movie star comes with a ridiculous amount of hidden property taxes. If I didn't get the paperwork sorted out today, because the city was already threatening to seize my only safe house. 

I grabbed my keys and mentally prepared myself for a miserable afternoon dealing with the bureaucracy.

I threw on my best civilian disguise to make sure absolutely nobody would recognize me at the municipal building. 

A pair of thick glasses... sounds good.  A heavy brown trench coat... a bit excessive, but what I need. A flat cap made me look like a completely average accountant... not bad. 

I drove a very boring sedan from Cliff's garage instead of my motorcycle to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. The downtown courthouse was bustling with busy lawyers and annoyed citizens by the time I finally arrived.

Navigating the massive marble hallways of the courthouse was honestly worse than fighting an army of Serpentine. 

I had to wait in three different lines just to get a single form stamped by a very tired clerk. She eventually pointed me toward a set of heavy wooden doors at the end of the corridor for estate resolutions. 

The waiting area was completely empty, which just made the ticking wall clock sound incredibly ominous.

I paced back and forth across the checkered floor while reviewing the tax numbers in my head. Cliff Gordon apparently ignored his property taxes for a solid decade before he passed away... wow. 

I really needed this appointment to go smoothly so I could maintain my quiet base of operations. The heavy doors finally creaked open and a nervous lawyer rushed out with a terrified look on his face.

I pushed the doors open and immediately felt my stomach drop straight through the floor. 

Sitting behind an oversized mahogany desk was the exact person I never wanted to see again in my entire life. 

Judge Toughbutt looked just as grumpy and intimidating as he did on the day he banished me from the city. I guess even strict judges have to handle boring property disputes when they aren't tormenting and banishing innocent ninjas. 

I pulled my flat cap down a little lower and cautiously approached his desk with my folder of tax documents. 

"State your name and your specific business before I lose my patience," Toughbutt grumbled without even looking up from his paperwork. 

"Hey, I'm here to settle the back taxes for the Gordon estate," I replied while keeping my voice as flat and nasal as possible. 

He snatched the folder right out of my hands and started aggressively flipping through the legal pages.

"It's about time someone took responsibility for this financial mess," he snorted loudly while adjusting his reading glasses. 

He grabbed a red pen and started scribbling furiously over several of my carefully organized tax forms. "You young people today have absolutely no respect for the law or proper financial planning," he complained bitterly. "Everyone just expects the city to hand them a free pass because they think they're special."

"I completely agree with you, sir," I lied smoothly just to keep him happy and moving along. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"This city is going straight down the drain because of all these vigilantes running around like wild animals," he continued ranting. "They cause massive property damage and expect the hardworking taxpayers to just clean up their ridiculous messes."